Sunday, November 29, 2015

When the Geese Go








Written on a blue paper sky,
late autumn sentences are spelled out with twigs,
punctuated by small, black birds.

A sketch of leafless trees,
colored-pencil straight,
line up in shades of gray and brown.

Tales of a winter hillside,
an ice-skimmed pond,
geese listening for their cue

to close the book,
leaving silence and snow
behind.




5 comments:

Barb said...

Your words make the transition from one season to another - hard to believe fall is gone and winter has arrived.

Out on the prairie said...

Last year I threw some worms to resident ducks to get them to open the ice in front of me so I could trout fish.

Friko said...

Rilke speaks of approaching winter as the time when nothing is left but long, solitary walks and the writing of letters. For him too it is silence which brings the year to a close.

Barbara Shallue said...

Pauline, i don't realize how much I miss your writing until I come back and read a post. So beautiful!

Wisewebwoman said...

Beautiful - you inspired me in a new direction. Thank you.

XO
WWW